


The Cygnet in May

by bluetoast



Series: Birds of a Feather [65]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Drug Use, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1740026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetoast/pseuds/bluetoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liesel knows Henry Winchester didn't mean to send her back in time. Maybe she could deal with it a little easier if she'd been prepared. It certainly would be a lot easier if she wasn't in Kansas in 1973 - and she started to run into the members of her family she's never met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cygnet in May

Liesel was angry. Not just angry, she was fully pissed off. It was one thing for Uncle H, (as she called Henry Winchester) to go on and on about the Men of Letters and expect her to absorb a lot of what he said. It was an entirely _different_ thing to start to dabble in some of their archaic traditions and ceremonies. Given how wrong the _last_ time he tried the things went, she supposed she should have expected it. But she'd at least hoped that he would have known better.

She had believed her grandma when she told her that most men either don't read directions or they don't read all of of them before starting something.

If Henry had read the incantation all the way through he might have seen the 'may only be performed among soul-bonded people' – meaning, of course, people who were married. 

Liesel stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and kept walking, the gravel of the highway crunching under her feet. Her cell-phone didn't work. If it had worked, she would have simply called either Mr. Cas or Mr Jay and asked them to come get her. At least she knew where she was. Somewhere in Kansas. She'd landed inside the Men of Letters bunker – and the only thing she'd gotten to work was the radio.

Which informed her that while it was still the first of May, it was currently 1973.

At least it was Friday in 2020.

She had scrounged around the bunker and found some money – so she had a pocketful of quarters and dimes. The one phone in the bunker hadn't worked. She'd also found an old leather jacket, in surprisingly good condition. It was a little too warm for the time of the year, she supposed, but back home, in Texas, temperatures were already in the seventies and low eighties. Whatever this weather was, to her, it was cold. The coat was also too big for her – she stood at a flat five foot. The woman who had worn this had been at least six inches taller – and most likely fifty pounds heavier. She kept her shoulders hunched as she walked onward, heading in the direction that told her was 'the right way.' 

A clattering sound caused her to turn and she saw a car approaching her. In the pocket of the coat were her keys, complete with the pepper-spray key-chain she'd been presented with at age twelve. Her dad told her that he hoped she never had to use it on anything other than a dog. Well, it was better than nothing, if she needed it. Taking a deep breath, she held out her hand, thumb up. 

Hadn't her grandpa safely hitchhiked several times as a kid? And he'd been the kid with hearing aides.

The car turned out to be one of those Volkswagen buses, painted blue. They always reminded Liesel of thermoses, for some reason. The bus slowed down and the driver peered at her, blinking several times, like there was something wrong with his eyes. “Need a ride, little sister?”

She stepped up to the car, setting her hand on the door, leaning a little closer. The interior reeked of incense. “I'd love one.”

“I'm headed for Lawrence, that okay?” He smiled – and then coughed. 

“Sounds great.” She'd be able to find a pay phone there – and maybe, just maybe, she could get a hold of Mr. Jay. 

“Hop in.” He leaned over the seat and opened the door. 

Liesel climbed into the bus, shut the door and pulled on the seat-belt. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He coughed again, shook his head and they started back on the road. “Your mom know you're hitching, kid?”

“My mom's dead.” Liesel rubbed her nose. It was such an automatic response, she didn't even think of lying. Well, in 1973 it wasn't exactly true – her mom hadn't even been born yet.

“Shame. Sorry about that.” He blinked again, his face looking a little ashen.

“Are you okay?” She frowned. The guy looked like he was about to pass out. 

“I'm fine.” He leaned back, one hand gripping the wheel while the other fumbled in his jacket pocket for something. “What's your name, little sister?”

“Clara Oswin.” She sneezed. The smell was a lot stronger in the car than she first thought. 

“Mitch Agnew.” He shot a glance at her. “No relation to the vice president.”

Liesel nodded. “I don't pay much attention to politics.” 

“Good for you kid.” He grimaced and coughed again. “Fat bunch of liars anyway.”

“Are you okay?” She noticed that he kept blinking, like something was in his eyes. 

“Fine.” He stuck something in his mouth, and to her shock, Liesel realized it was a joint. “You want one?” 

“No, thank you.” She bit her lip, remembering exactly how many anti-drug lectures she'd heard in school since she was five. Her dad had told her marijuana had some medicinal uses in some forms – but it was a drug that had gotten a reputation like a pit bull. It was so frowned upon that even in a safe, legal use, people were rallying against it. 

“Got a problem with it?” Mitch seemed to know what she was thinking.

“Nope. I just have a major fear of getting throat or lung cancer. It's killed a number of people in my family.” She paused. “Besides, I only like to get high on the weekend.”

He laughed before responding. “Guess that's a good reason.” He lit the joint, his hand shaking. 

Liesel grabbed the handle above the door and let out a strangled scream as billboard suddenly seemed to fill the windshield. She hadn't even realized they'd left the road.

The breaks squealed and Mitch grasped the steering wheel tightly. The car stopped inches from the sign. “Fuck. You okay kid?”

She nodded and swallowed a few times. “Yeah. You?”

Mitch pounded out the joint in the ashtray on the dashboard, his hand shaking. “You know how to drive, Clara?”

“Yeah... why?” She frowned.

“I think it might be better if you took the wheel. I really don't want to turn either of us into roadkill.” He swung open the door and came around to passenger side of the car. 

Liesel got into the driver's seat, having to move it as far forward as she could to reach the pedals. Mitch got situated into the other seat. “Sorry if this is a little bumpy getting back on the road.”

“I can handle that.” He replied.

Once they were back on the road, it wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be. The van didn't seem to want to go more than forty miles an hour – and everything seemed to rattle when she put her foot to the accelerator. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Mitch coughed in the seat next to her. “Never do acid kid, the trip down tends to last.”

Liesel's mouth went dry. No wonder he'd been behaving the way he had. “You gonna be okay?”

“Better, now that you're driving.” He sighed. “So, that's a weird accent you got there kid. Where you from?”

“Texas.” She gave him a sideways look. “Neither of my parents' first language is English.” 

“Don't sound Southern.” He snorted and she heard him shift in his seat. 

“You've seen to many movies.” She coughed once and looked over – Mitch had fallen asleep – apparently the part about crashing after some drugs was true. “And you probably need the rest.” The driving helped calm her down somewhat – getting through Topeka was a little harrowing, but Mitch snored the whole way and wasn't awake to criticize her driving. She also managed to avoid the police – yeah, it wouldn't be good to show her Texas driver's permit with a birth-date that was thirty-one years in the future. She slowed down as Lawrence came into view. The change in momentum caused her companion to wake up. “Good morning.”

Mitch hacked once before answering. “I didn't sleep that long.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I'm headed for a friend's house on fifth street. I'll direct you there.”

“Sure.” She kept her focus on his instructions and the traffic, trying not to think about how crazy all of this was. Once they reached the place, an old Victorian in need of some paint and a yard overgrown with weeds, she was relieved. Several cars, including another van, this one a lurid shade of purple, filled the drive. She pulled into the last empty spot and turned the car off. “Thanks for the ride.” She handed Mitch the keys.

“Thank _you_ for the drive, Clara Oswin.” He said as they got out of the car. “You take care of yourself, hear?”

“I hear.” She stuck her hands into her pockets and headed back up fifth, heading for Main Street. She probably needed to air out, after being in that car. 

No one gave her a second look as she walked down the street, glancing into windows of stores full of things that she'd only seen in photographs. It was hard not to gape at a few things – mainly the prices. She wondered if she should have grabbed other things from the bunker – to pawn them, or something. But then, that would have looked suspicious, even by current standards. Her stomach rumbled, and she grimaced. She had first thought that the ten dollars in change wouldn't do much good, but she might have to rethink that.

Liesel came around a corner and found herself facing a used car lot. She sighed and walked across the gravel – there was bound to be a payphone around here somewhere. She gave a sideways glance to a dark haired man who looked similar to Uncle H, who was studying the inner workings of a tan colored Volkswagen van. Having just driven one, she knew the guy had to be crazy to be for wanting it. “Where do you think you're going to go in that thing?” She folded her arms, absently leaning against a slightly dust covered black car.

The guy shut the hood and frowned. “What's wrong with it?”

“Nothing, if you're moving to a city.” She smirked slightly. She might not know a lot about cars – but she knew enough to tell the difference between what was good and what was crap.

“Meaning?” The guy actually looked like he wanted to know.

“You've never been to Europe, have you?” She came over to the Volkswagen. “They don't drive places like we do here in the states. They take trains, trams and buses.” She indicated the car. “This is the sort of thing the family piles into to drive across town for a sporting event, or to go see the grandparents.” 

“Really?” He folded his arms, his expression uncertain. 

“Not to mention this thing is toast if you so much as get into a fender bender.” She walked back over to the black car. “This, however...” She smiled. “Will handle almost anything.” She nodded back to the bus. “Besides, winters in Germany are _nothing_ like Midwestern winters.” She pursed her lips. “If you're moving to California, it doesn't matter, but I think that thing will be dead on the side of the road once you get to New Mexico.”

The man popped the hood of the black car and she could see his eyes light up – the exact same way her dad's did when she got her letter from the National Merit Scholars. “This engine...” He let out a low whistle. “It is a nice car.”

“Take care of this thing and your grand-kids will be fighting over it.” She suddenly felt her mouth go dry. Recognition washed over her and she realized exactly what car this was – and who the person standing next to her was as well.

“Don't even have kids yet...” He turned to her, smiling. “You think it'd last that long?”

“Probably can – might even last longer than that.” She put her hands back into her pockets so he couldn't see her trembling. 

“It needs a little work.” He turned. “I'm sorry, John Winchester.” He held out his hand.

Liesel took a breath and took it. “Clara Oswin.” She turned her attention back to the car – she was rather glad of her bandaged fingers on her right hand – so he wouldn't notice how similar they were. “Don't most things need a little work?” 

“Point.” He nodded, his eyes bright as he looked back at the car. “And thanks.” 

“Oh, you're welcome.” She turned. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.” He turned his attention to the salesman who had come back out of the office. 

Liesel kept her head down as she walked away, trying not to think about what had just happened. This day was getting stranger by the hour. By the time she got home, driving a Volkswagen bus owned by a junkie named Mitch Agnew was going to be the _least_ strange thing.

*  
The payphone idea turned out to be a bust. Not for lack of finding them – but the number for Mr. Jay didn't work – she should have suspected that. That left her with idea number two; she'd written a letter to be delivered to Mr. Cas, care of her dad, on the same day she left – exactly forty seven years from today. She just hoped that solved the problem. The man at Western Union had given her a funny look when she'd dropped off her letter. She was just honestly hoping a tornado wouldn't strike between now and then and blow said letter away. She settled down into a booth at the diner, glad that the waitress didn't look at her funny when she counted her quarters out on the Formica table.

Things would be more manageable after she ate. It'd also be easier to be optimistic with a full stomach. Liesel rubbed her eyes tiredly – too much had happened today. 

“Here you go, sweetie.” The waitress was back and she put down her order; fries and a milkshake. She'd be home in time for dinner, she was sure of that. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you.” She gave the woman a smile. 

“You're welcome.” She turned and went away.

It turned out she was right; the food did help.

*  
Gabriel knew he had to get out of Lawrence before Azazel caught a whiff of him. Strange, to be an archangel running from a demon that he could crush like a bug. But there was a plan in motion and the sooner he got out of dodge, the better. Besides, he was still undercover as the pagan god Loki. 

He scanned the few items at the garage sale, not really interested in most of it. He glanced up at an odd sound he couldn't quite place and saw a young girl taking a few practice swings with a bat, the old man running the sale was smiling, saying he was happy someone wanted it. Gabriel wouldn't have given the two of them a second thought – except the girl's future was black to him. 

The way all people tied to his own future's were. 

*  
The baseball bat was a thing of beauty. It was exactly the right length and weight for her – and was within regulation for high school fast-pitch softball. She had taken a few practice swings, sans the coat, before buying it. Perhaps the best part of it was that the man running the garage sale only wanted a dollar for it. A bat like this would cost almost sixty dollars at Dick's Sporting Goods at home. It'd be at least ten at a garage sale. It was a shame the gloves were all too big. 

Liesel checked her watch, wondering how, exactly the whole time thing would work. Then again, maybe it wasn't going to work automatically, like it seemed it should. Perhaps geography had to be taken into account – how long did it take for a letter to get from Kansas to Texas? A few days? A week? “This is not going to be easy.” she sat down on a walk in front of a house, taking a deep breath. It was getting dark, it was starting to get cold – in her mind – and she really just wanted to go home.

The strangeness of it was starting to settle in. 

It was 1973. 

Grandpa was studying chemistry at Gallaudet, in Washington D.C. Right now, he was there. Michael Coulter. He was twenty. This November would mark the tenth anniversary of the year the world went silent for him. Grandma was her age – or close to it. That was harder to imagine. Grandma, a girl of her age – and probably her size. While they had no genetic bond, they both were small framed and petite. Like her mother. Far away from here, in an ever darkening nightmare that Romania was becoming, Papa Madgearu, most likely closer to John's age than Michael's – was no doubt in the middle of his compulsory military service. Papa never talked about it. Like her second cousin, Andres, who would give his life for freedom in 1989. Andres was probably an infant in his crib right now, or a toddler, into everything. Gran – gran was finishing up high school. 

Here, in Lawrence were the missing pieces of her past.

Names on a page on Ancestry dot com. Mary Campbell. She would be dead in ten years. John Winchester, the looming shadow who Dad would call Sir in his book and almost never talked about otherwise. The man who would give Dad nightmares. Samuel Campbell – he was around here somewhere, and his wife, Deanna. They were merely names and an old photograph. They resided on the mantel at home in Austin in a pewter frame next to Andres Madgearu. 

Campbells and Winchesters didn't really exist beyond names in the Coulter household. They were merely that; names.

“You lost?” A voice cut into her thoughts and Liesel looked up. A woman was coming down the walk from the house, standing over her. It was Mary Campbell. She would live here.

“No.” She shifted on her seat on the stairs. “Is it okay that I sit here?” 

Mary shuffled and sat down next to her, her smile worn. The way Dad's was after a sixteen hour shift at the hospital. “It's fine.” She sighed. “Pretty heavy coat for the weather you have there.”

She let out a breath. “I'm not used to this kind of cold.”

“It's not that cold, where are you from, Florida?” She grinned then. A grin that she'd seen before – in the mirror.

“Texas, actually.” She ducked her head. “I haven't been in serious cold since I was seven and we went to my grandparents house in Maryland for Christmas.”

She chuckled. “Okay, so you think this is cold. Well, you'd probably tell me that a ninety five degree summer day wasn't seriously hot.”

“It isn't.” Liesel was surprised how easy it was to talk to the woman. It was almost like talking to Aunt Becca about _Doctor Who_ – Dad wasn't supposed to know about that. “It's not seriously hot until it's a hundred. Ninety five is – annoyingly hot.”

Mary shuddered. “I hate the heat. Give me winter anytime.” She pointed to the bat. “Been down at the Lawson's garage sale, huh?”

“What? Oh – yeah.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was sort of disappointed the...” She was cut off as Mary grabbed her wrist and pulled back the sleeve of her coat, staring at the bracelet on it. The same bracelet she now realized was on Mary's wrist as well.

“Where did you get that?” Her voice was low, dangerous sounding.

“My grandfather gave it to me.” She frowned. “What's wrong?”

Mary released her, a nervous look on her face. “Sorry, I've just never seen someone with the same bracelet as I do, that's all.” She shook her head to clear it. “What were you saying?”

“I was going to say I was kind of disappointed the mitts were to big.” She held out her hands, hoping that the woman wouldn't notice the '2021' on her class ring. 

“Your birthday in February or June?” Mary asked.

“June.” She rested her arms on her legs, taking a deep breath. “Might get a new mitt this year.”

“Softball or baseball?” She sounded amused.

“Softball.” She held up her right hand, showing Mary the three wrapped fingers. “Never catch a line drive barehanded if you can help it.”

“I'm sort of surprised Mr. Lawson is selling all that baseball stuff. I thought he'd cling to it a little longer.” Mary shook her head. “Then again, it's been two years since Greg died.”

Liesel looked down at her bat with a different sort of feeling. Now she felt sort of bad that she'd only paid the man a dollar for it. “I didn't know that.”

The woman gave her a slight hug. “Well, if you're new in town, you can't be expected to know.” She sighed. “I'd love to get out of this place.”

“Oh, I don't live here. I'm just... passing through.” She stretched as the rumble of a motor coming down the street caused both of them to look up.

“What the hell is that thing?” Mary muttered under her breath. 

Liesel saw the Impala headed towards them. “I think it's a couple tons of American ingenuity, as my grandpa would say.”

“That's not the car I told him to get.” She made a disgusted noise and got up, heading towards John.

Liesel missed the exchange between them, only looking up when she heard the motor start up and the car drive away. So Mary hated the car. Well, how was she supposed to know that? Then again, maybe once she'd see how it handled in the snow, she might change her mind. “I want to go home.” 

*  
Dean frowned at his cell-phone. Liesel wasn't answering her phone. He checked the time, it was nearly ten at night. This was the third time he'd called and gotten no response. Even though it was Friday, she should have at least answered once. Had she gone out with Georgiana and some other girls and not left him a message? That didn't sound like something she would do. Perhaps she told Henry where she was going. He was visiting for the weekend, helping Liesel with a genealogy project.

Was there a movie that came out this weekend that she'd go see? 

Well, if she'd gone out to a movie with friends, it'd make sense her cell would be off. He left her a text telling her to send him one when she got home. He put his cell back into his locker and shut the door. 

He needed to not worry about Liesel so much – she was almost sixteen and in a year, she'd be graduating high school and heading for college. 

He picked up a clean mesh cap from the container near the door, covering his hair with it and headed back out into the hospital. He hoped she was enjoying whatever movie she was seeing.

*  
Liesel spread her hands over her knees, staring down at them. Long fingers, long palms – like Dad's – like John's – like Uncle H's. Winchester hands. Uncle Sam and Uncle Adam didn't have hands like theirs. Not exactly. The nails were painted an off-shade of red. Dad still had trouble seeing her wearing it, like she was still seven or eight, instead of nearly sixteen. She flexed her right hand, wincing at the pain that shot down her three bandaged fingers. Well, she'd re-wrap them before the game – if she got home in time for the game.

The sky darkened and she hunched over in the coat, hugging herself. 

Other people were at home by now, sitting around the table, discussing their days with each other. It was almost absurd. She was sitting here, on her great-grandparent's stoop, surrounded by people who were carrying on like nothing was wrong. That's what it was. That was the uneasy feeling that had been with her since she got here. These people had no idea of the shit that was going to go down before she was born. She'd never known different, but looking at it now – it stopped looking fake and started to look innocent.

Mitch Agnew with his drugs and his carefree attitude. How long was it going to be before he overdosed on something and had his life snuffed out? The waitress at the diner, the cook who'd made her food – they were going through the motions, no idea what was coming. And the rest. The people she was related to but had never met. She knew all their fates, or a hint of them. It was like watching a movie about the Titanic and not wanting to get attached to anyone because you didn't know which fictional characters were going to live and going to die.

It was a wretched, lonely feeling – the only people she knew in this world were miles away; and, just like everyone here, had no idea who she was. She nearly laughed at the realization that none of her grandparents were married yet. She leaned down, resting her head on her knees. She didn't even know why she was still sitting where she was. She should have moved a long time ago – it'd certainly be less awkward. 

Liesel hated herself for leaving Lebanon. For leaving the bunker. She could have taken some of the money, gone down to a hardware store and spray painted a sign for Uncle H to find when he'd go there in a few decades from now. She should have stayed where it was safe. Found a way to get back on her own – certainly there was a book in the bunker that could help her.

“You're still here?” She heard footsteps approach and then someone set a hand on her back, the way grandma did when she knew she was upset. It was Mary.

“I'm sorry.” She raised her head, frowning. “I'll be out of here in another minute or two.”

“Listen, do you need to call someone?” She had a worried look on her face. “You can use our phone.”

“No one is home.” Liesel replied, automatically. “It's... complicated.” 

“I see.” Mary sat down next to her, her face pensive. “You run away?”

Liesel snorted. “If I wanted to run away from home, I'd have had the sense to at least pack a few things – and worn a jacket that fit.”

She gave her a nervous look, biting at her bottom lip for a moment – the way Dad did. “Wait here.” Mary rose and hurried up to the house. 

She watched her go, and it was weird. Mary moved with grace like a gymnast without meaning to, quick on her feet, purposeful – and at the same time, light, her feet floating above the ground. Liesel could remember playing gymnast with Emma in the backyard, bouncing on the balls of their feet, turning cartwheels and somersaults in the hot Austin afternoons. She turned back to looking at her feet. This would be more of an adventure if Emma or Georgiana were here. 

Now there was a sobering thought. Georgiana's parents might currently be alive too – around Andres age. Toddling around and playing baby games – not knowing that in forty years, they would be murdered by a truck driver who was texting on their cell-phone. Leaving their daughter an orphan to be raised by her aunt and uncle. 

Footsteps caused her to turn and Mary was back, along with an older woman, blond hair barely streaked with gray. She was carrying a glass of something – it looked like water. Behind them, she could see a man standing in the doorway, even from here, she could tell he wasn't too happy. Well, that made two of them. “I'm sorry, I didn't get her name.” Mary said to the woman.

Liesel stood up, brushing her hands on the coat. “I'm Clara Oswin.” She rubbed her nose. “I don't want to cause any trouble.”

“Hush now.” The woman held out the glass. “Drink this. It's water.”

“Thank you.” She took the glass and drank the water down. It was warm from the tap, or so she guessed. 

The two women exchanged glances and the woman spoke again. “Well, it's probably better if you wait inside than out here. It's not safe out here at night.”

Liesel could have laughed. Not safe? She knew all about things that weren't safe. “Again, thank you.”

“I'm Deanna. This is my daughter Mary.” She nodded downward. “Don't forget your bat.” 

“What? Oh.” She bent down, took up the bat and followed the two of them up the walk. “Thanks.” 

The man looked her over when they got up to the porch. Even though she'd seen him in a photograph, Samuel Campbell reminded her of that ancient man in Cosoba, her grandfather's father – whom she had only met once that she could remember, when she was eight. “Any reason you sat on my walk for three hours?”

“Well, after the first thirty minutes, since no one chased me off, it was okay to continue to do so.” Might as well be as honest as she could.

Deanna chuckled. “She has a point, Samuel.” She took her by the arm. “Now, you look like you could use a good meal.”

“I don't want to intrude.” Liesel let herself be led into the kitchen. 

“Nonsense.” The woman waved at a chair. “You can put your things over there.”

Liesel leaned the bat against the chair and then took off the coat, folding it carefully. She rolled her shoulders, wincing as the left one cracked. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, I've heard worse.” Deanna – Great-Grandmother Campbell – looked up from the stove. “You like roast beef?”

“Yes.” She felt uncertain. “Do you need any help?”

“Wash up, then you can help Mary set the table.” She turned her attention back to the stove. 

Liesel went over to the sink and washed her hands. In the other room, she could hear Mary defending John to her father. Well, she wasn't going to comment on that. She dried her hands and then took up the stack of plates that were sitting on the counter. “Do I set this table?” 

“Oh no, dining room.” She waved her hand towards another doorway. 

She nodded in reply and went into the dining room. The unsettling thing about this house was how dark it was. It reminded her of the Carmichael house – curtains always drawn, and lights rarely shining through the edges. She'd just set the plates around when Mary came in, her hands full of silverware. 

“He thinks I'm still five years old. He's a nice guy, just because he's not...” She looked up, her face flushed. “Does your dad give you a hard time around your boyfriend?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.” She felt her cheeks go pink. “He doesn't even like me to hang around with boys from my class alone. During school.” 

“All of them?” She gave her an incredulous look as she set the forks and knives around.

“Pretty much.” Liesel sighed. “I know he means well but... I think he's still trying to figure out how I turned from a sixth grader into a high school junior”

“You're seventeen?” 

“Almost sixteen, actually – I skipped fourth grade.” She frowned. “Granted, I don't think he thought about me graduating from high school at sixteen when I was nine.”

“Point.” She took a breath. “Just to warn you, my dad tends to give guests a full interrogation if they're strangers, even if they are kids.” She made a face. “And he wonders why I didn't have a lot of friends when I was in school.”

“Thanks – I think.” She went back to the kitchen.

*  
John Winchester looked up at the house, wishing his stepfather would shut the hell up about the Campbells. Joel Patterson had to be the most opinionated person on the face of this earth. He barely tolerated his stepson – and he certainly didn't tolerate him seeing any of his Winchester relatives. Joel didn't even know Henry Winchester and still he blamed _John_ for him leaving. He called him a host of bad names, and seriously – as soon as the Impala was all fixed, he was going to pick up Mary and the two of them were going to get the hell out of Lawrence.

They'd go to Atchison, to his great-aunt's home first. Maybe they'd move to Kansas City and he could get a job working construction, or something. Anything would be better than staying here. 

One thing was for damn sure – he'd never hit his kids or be verbally abusive like Joel. 

If not for the first time, John wished his father would return from wherever he went and punch the man in the face. 

*  
“So, Clara, is this your first visit to Lawrence?” Deanna asked as she passed her the gravy boat.

“Yes, it is. First visit to Kansas, actually.” She put a small amount on her meat and potatoes before passing the boat to Mary. 

“Where you from?” Samuel asked, his manner very direct.

“Austin.” She paused. “Though I wasn't born there. My parents and I moved there when I was five.”

“Where'd you live before that?” Another easy to answer question, it would only get difficult if she had to start adding details.

“Palo Alto – that's in California.” She took the offered bowl of peas and carrots and put some on her plate. “Thank you.”

“Welcome. What are you doing in Kansas?” 

“Dad.” Mary interjected. “She's probably just here looking at colleges. She told me she was a junior in high school.”

“Are you?” Samuel frowned. “What did you think of KU?”

“Not bad. I'm sort of waiting to see what schools offer me scholarships.” Not a total lie there. “Although that will most likely depend on how the softball season ends.” She paused. “The again, maybe knowing four additional languages is also a good way to get schools more interested.”

“Four?” Samuel set his fork down. “What all do you speak?”

“Romanian, German, Spanish and American Sign Language.” She resisted the urge to take a massive bite of the mashed potatoes. They were better than her dad's – and so was the gravy.

“Romanian? That's sort of an obscure language to pick up. Any reason you learned that?” Deanna asked. 

“My mother's family is from Romania.” She looked back down at her plate and ate a few peas. 

“Where in Romania?” Mary interjected, a curious look on her face. 

“Some town you've probably never heard of called Cosoba.” She said more to her plate than to anyone at the table.

“Any relation to the Madgearus?” Samuel said, his voice sounding – odd. 

Liesel was relieved she didn't have anything in her mouth when he said that. She coughed and looked up. “I think so – through a marriage, or something.” 

“So, your parents just let you come up here from Texas, all alone?” Deanna was changing the subject - and Liesel was grateful. The idea of her great-grandparents knowing each other somehow – was just too hard to fathom. 

“Someone was supposed to meet me here, but they got delayed somewhere.” She sliced her meat, trying to keep her face calm. “They're probably wandering around Leavenworth looking for me there instead of here.”

Samuel actually cracked a smile at that. “So what does your father do, Clara?”

“He's an anesthesiologist.” She looked up from her plate to see three blank stares. Well, at least that was nothing new. “He's the doctor who makes sure patients stay asleep during surgery.” 

*

Gabriel resolved he'd track the girl down and at least find out who she was. He'd regretted not getting the little deaf girl's name several years ago. At least knowing her name might help him some. He could have laughed when he tracked her scent to the Campbell house. Of course he would find her here. It would either be here or with John Winchester.

Granted, ringing someone's doorbell at eight-thirty at night might not be the best time to talk to her, but time was something he didn't have a lot of. He stepped up onto the porch and rang the bell, hoping that the girl herself might answer the door.

The door swung open, and he found himself facing Deanna Campbell. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I'm looking for...” 

“Mr. Jay?” The girl appeared next to Deanna, a look of what could only be relief on her face. Then, to his utter shock, she stepped forward and hugged him. “You found me!”

“Yes.” He gave her an odd pat on the back, feeling unnerved. He hadn't hugged a stranger since Mardi Gras. 

“Clara, is this your friend?” Deanna gave him an odd look.

“Uh huh.” She stepped back, looking nervous.

Gabriel decided that the best thing to do was simply play along until he and Clara were alone. “I'm sorry she intruded on you.”

“Oh, it was not the least bit of a problem.” She turned to Clara. “Why don't you go get your things, tell Samuel and Mary good-bye.” Clara nodded and vanished into the house. “She said you might have gotten lost getting here.”

“I wasn't lost, I was stuck in traffic.” Gabriel stuffed his hands into his pockets. “There was a major pile up in Kansas City. Thankfully, it didn't look like anyone was seriously hurt.” He saw the girl come back, wearing a too large jacket and carrying the baseball bat.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Campbell. And for the recipes. Dinner was wonderful.” She looked as if she was trying her hardest not to give the woman a hug. 

“Oh, you're welcome. If you do decide to go to KU, don't hesitate to call.” She stepped aside to Clara could come out.

“Sure.” A pause and Gabriel could swear the girl was fighting back tears. “Maybe I can make you all my grandma's lasagna.” 

Deanna started to shut the door. “Looking forward to it. Take care of yourself, Clara Oswin.”

Clara gave the woman a tiny wave as the door shut and the two of them started down the walkway. The moment they were down the stairs, her smile vanished. “Sorry.”

“I want you to keep all your answers to five word sentences.” He set a hand on her arm and guided her down to the van. “Understood?”

“Yes.” Her face was ashen.

“How do you know me?” He opened the door for her and was glad he didn't have to push her inside. That at least told him she trusted him.

“It's a long story.” Clara looked like she was ready to throw up.

Gabriel got into the car and started it up, driving away from the Campbell house. Okay, so he might have deserved an answer like that. “Is your name Clara Oswin?”

“No, she's a fictional character.” She looked over at him. “Where are we going?”

“Getting out of town.” He frowned. “Kid, why are you wearing a coat that was new in 1952 and looks like it hasn't been worn since then?”

She settled back in the seat, her fingers resting on the end of the bat.“I can't answer that.”

“Why not?” He hoped she didn't have some kind of selective amnesia.

“I'd exceed my word limit.” She turned her head towards him, her eyebrows lifted in an almost amused look.

“Touche.” Gabriel snickered. “Okay, new question, might sound crazy, are you in the right time period?”

“No, I am not.” She swallowed. “May I use more words?”

“Keep it under ten.” Gabriel felt a bit of relief when they got on the Intestate and headed east, towards Missouri. He fumbled in his pocket and drew out a orange flavored tootsie-pop. “What was the day and year when you got up this morning?”

“It was May first, two thousand twenty.” She must have seen something on his face because her eyes widened. “How do you think I feel?”

“How did you get back here?” He was shocked. He couldn't even fathom how anyone could get back that far in history unintentionally. Or a least, without a method for getting back home.

“Uncle H didn't read all the directions.” She let go of the bat and hugged herself. “I, um...”

“I'll send you home kid, we just need to get out of the area.” He looked over at her. “We need to avoid certain types of attention.” 

“I'll pretend I know what that means.” She coughed and shifted in her seat. “It's nothing personal.”

Gabriel frowned. “Are you related to the Campbells?” 

“It's taken you _this_ long to catch on?” She sounded half stunned, half amused. 

“Take that as a yes.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry, kid.”

“Thanks.” She turned her gaze to the window. “You mind if we don't talk?”

“Nope.” He reached over and flipped the radio on, and a moment later, Elton John's 'Rocket Man' came out of the van's speakers. 

*  
Liesel fell asleep in the car, the rhythm of the road and the events of her day came crashing down around her. She was rather surprised she could sleep, given all that had happened. The change in momentum caused her to wake and she blinked once or twice, confused. “Where are we?”

“Platte City, Missouri. Just north of the airport.” They went down an access road and he pulled over to the side. “Come on, it's easier if we're outside.”

She took up her bat and followed him out onto the road. “I'm sorry about this but uh...”

“Don't worry.” He adjusted her coat, as if she were little. “Trust me, it's better that I got you out of there.”

“I was sort of hoping that someone else was coming – I sent them a letter, to be delivered in 2020, but I wasn't sure how the time thing would work so...”

“Odds are, that letter will vanish between now and then.” He tucked her arms against her. “So, where are you going?”

“Burnt Prairie Road, Austin, Texas. Do you need a more specific address?” She was afraid to move, in case it wouldn't work if she did.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand on her arm. “No, I've got it.” He looked back at her. “You take care of yourself, you hear? No more time traveling.”

“I will.” She took a breath. “Chutes and Ladders.”

“Pardon?” He gave her a confused look. “What does that game have to do with anything?”

“Suggest that game the next time you see me.” She smiled, feeling a lot braver than she should. “I'll be five.”

“You're funny kid.” Gabriel pressed his fingers to her forehead, and a moment later, she landed on her front lawn.

*

Henry bolted upright when he heard the front door open and close, and the alarm was set. He came out of the family room and let out a breath. “You're home.”

“Yeah.” Liesel set her bat down and came over and hugged him. “Don't ever do that again.”

“Don't worry, I won't.” He smoothed down her hair. “I couldn't get a hold of Castiel or Gabriel. Neither of them were answering their phones.”

“It's okay.” She pulled away. “I'm going to go get cleaned up and get some sleep.” She turned and headed up the stairs. 

“Do you want some dinner?” He called after her and came into the front hallway. Surely she had to be hungry – she'd been gone for hours.

“Already ate.” She vanished into the upstairs hallway. 

“Where?” He didn't even know where she went, let alone how she got food.

Liesel reappeared, her expression almost blank – and he recognized the trauma in her gaze. “I had dinner at my other great-grandparents house. Grandma Campbell was there too. I'm supposed to make them Gran's lasagna the next time I visit.” She turned and headed back for her room. “Have to make the bread pudding too...” 

Henry was surprised when her door didn't slam shut. “Dean is going to kill me.” He swallowed. “If the angels don't do it first.”

*  
Dean yawned as he opened his locker and got out his cell-phone, relieved when he saw he had a message. It was four in the morning and his shift was over – he'd been in one surgery after another and hadn't been able to check his phone since eleven. He was even more happy to see that it was from Liesel. 

_Dad – I'm home. Sorry to make you worry._

Everything was good then. He headed out of the hospital and stopped short when he saw Gabriel sitting on the hood of his car. Wasn't supposed to be on book tour with Bella in Australia or something? He frowned. _“Is something wrong?”_

The angel slid off of the car, his face careworn. _“That depends on your definition of wrong.”_

*  
Liesel stared at her alarm clock, watching the time click past. She didn't even stir when she heard the garage door open and a few minutes later, close. She was usually asleep when Dad came home from work. There was the sound of him hanging up his keys, a metallic clang of something – probably his shoes, hitting the washing machine. She nearly started when Noroc got up from her spot at the foot of the bed and left the room, bounding down the steps. She could have laughed – the cat was no doubt off to beg for a snack. Even though her dad told her time and time again not to feed the animals people food, it was him who ended up spoiling the cats. 

There was just Noroc now, they'd had to put Leroux to sleep last year, he'd been suffering from a host of incurable feline illnesses. So the remaining cat was doted on and spoiled more than she had when there were two of them. Sure enough, she heard the cat meowing down in the kitchen – and then the fridge opened and closed. 

A few stairs creaked under her father's weight as he came up to the second floor. A moment later, there was a pattering sound and Noroc rejoined her, turning around a few times at the foot of the bed, like a dog. “Silly cat.” She sat up as there was a knock on her door. 

“Liesel?” Her dad looked around the door at her. “You mind if I come in?”

She shook her head and he stepped into the room – she leaned over and snapped on her bedside table. “Who told you?”

“Mr. Jay.” He pulled out her desk chair and sat down. “He wanted me to tell you that for someone who got thrown back in time, you handled things remarkably well.”

“Well, I knew freaking out wouldn't help things.” She let out a breath. “I think it was running into all the people who were alive then that are dead now was the weirdest part... and the worst.” 

Her father sighed and leaned forward. “I'm sorry, honey.” 

“It's not as bad as watching those gymnastic highlight videos with mom in them.” She let out a deep breath. “I should try and get some more sleep.”

Her dad stood and kissed the top of her head. “All right. We'll talk a little more this afternoon, okay?”

“Sure.” She didn't object to him tucking her in like she was six. It was the sort of thing she needed right now. After he turned out the light and left her room, she closed her eyes and felt Noroc get comfortable in another part of the bed.

Maybe things would be a little easier to handle once she'd slept a little more.

At least she didn't have a softball game until Monday.


End file.
